The Price of His Protection

The following day, the walls felt smaller.

Emilia sat curled on the oversized couch, flipping through the pages of the file Alessandro had insisted she read. Every line made her feel like she was reading about someone else — crimes, alliances, betrayals. Her father hadn't been a victim of the mafia world.

He'd ruled it.

And now, that legacy was stitched into her blood whether she liked it or not.

The front door opened with a low hiss. Alessandro entered, flanked by two of his men. His expression was unreadable, but there was tension behind his eyes.

"We need to talk," he said.

She closed the file. "That seems to be your favorite line."

He didn't rise to the sarcasm. "Someone followed you last week. In Rosefield."

Her stomach dropped.

"What?"

"One of the Blake remnants. Not from Victor's inner circle — but close enough to know your face."

She swallowed. "So now I'm what, a target?"

"You were a target the moment you were born."

His words landed like gunshots.

She stood. "Then why didn't you leave me out of this? Why bring me here?"

His voice was colder now. "Because if they'd found you first, you'd be dead."

He stepped closer. "This place, this security — it's not a favor. It's a necessity. I didn't bring you into the fire. You were born in it."

"And you think locking me in this glass palace is the solution?"

"It's not a prison," he said.

"Then let me leave."

"No."

Just one word. Firm. Final.

She stared at him, her voice shaking. "You don't get to own me just because you saved me."

He didn't flinch. "I'm not trying to own you, Emilia. I'm trying to make sure I don't bury you."

Her anger cracked — just enough for the fear underneath to show.

He softened, just a fraction. "You can hate me. You can fight me. But don't doubt that I'm the only reason you're still breathing."

Silence stretched between them.

And slowly, painfully, she whispered the one truth she couldn't avoid.

"I don't hate you."

Alessandro looked at her then — not like a king, not like a killer. But like a man who had lost too much to ever love cleanly again.

And still, he stepped closer.

And she didn't step away.